Weakness
by Takigawa Aki
Summary: Rokudou Mukuro is never vulnerable except when the threat is his own mind. He will not suffer the man who infects him like a virus. D69 Lemon


**Prompt:** Dino/Mukuro - prison; "I am not the one that is bound" (KHRFest)

**Warnings: **Yaoi lemon o;

**Weakness**

This was the man who had haunted him for months. Dreams were meant to be private; it was the worst feeling of violation when they were hijacked, when he lost all ability to control them and suddenly his mind was barely even his anymore. There was something intriguing in the little smirk he had every time, sometimes obliterating all other thoughts in favor of his commanding face.

He was not supposed to be so vulnerable. A man of his position, of his power and his influence, was a fortress—or supposed to be. When he succumbed to someone else he would be forfeiting the security of everyone he cared about. The strongest link could not be the weakest one.

But that was what he was. And when his control was taken away, Rokudou Mukuro did not like it. He'd never been thankful for his imprisonment in Vindice, especially not for his newest cell: the lower levels, the tank of water in which he lay suspended, unconscious to the world immediately around him. But now it was a retreat. His mind was a treacherous thing to seek for comfort, but he could hide his weakness when he withdrew his illusion from the surface. No one else needed to know about what had come over him.

The Cavallone and the Vongola families were deeply intertwined. That they had met was inevitable. But this was beyond anything he'd expected. That face hung in his mind, invaded his thoughts, stole his dreams. He felt vulnerable. He never felt vulnerable.

At first he wondered what it was that made this happen. All he knew was that he did not like it. Was this on purpose? Did Dino Cavallone know what he was doing to the boy? He couldn't. Only Mukuro could manipulate someone's mind consciously like this. It was his own doing but he could not fix it in himself. It was a disease because it threatened his resolve. Diseases are to be purged.

Only he couldn't do it as an illusion. Something stopped him from it, like this was too important for that. He wanted to be able to feel the air around him and touch the man, run his fingers through his blonde hair, and assure himself that his illness was over. That was all he could think of to do. An illusion was not good enough.

It took weeks of planning. One month turned into two, all the while his mind filled with images of that unassuming smile, the comfortable swagger, the way the corners of Dino's eyes crinkled when he was embarrassed. It only strengthened his resolve. This was a sickness and it had to be cured. There was only one way to do that.

The air was the first thing that he noticed. It was crisp and clean and cool and nothing like the recycled oxygen he'd been breathing through the mask in his time underwater. The next thing he noticed was sensations. In the water he touched nothing, floating unmoving. But there was something against his back, and the assault on his nerves after so long of such nothingness was almost painful. But he was no longer in the tank, and that made the pain as sweet as a caress. Then his eyes opened and blinked at the dim light above, so bright to his eyes that had been closed so long, but he could see that it was only shining softly. His gaze darted about the room, a small square with battered walls and the absence of furniture. When he found his limbs again and could move he found himself on a mattress, covered in a sheet, lying in soft clothes he must have been dressed in before he woke up. How long had it been since he had escaped?

Ken and Chikusa would be in any minute to tell him. So it had been successful. He looked down at his hands, marveling at the tiny wrinkles that still hadn't disappeared from being underwater. Hopefully they'd be gone in a few hours or else they would be annoying. Vaguely he wondered how he looked. Rumpled, for sure. Was he pale? Were his eyes bloodshot? It seemed likely, but then, it didn't really matter.

Something caught his eye beside the mattress, leaning against the wall, and he rolled over to look. The sight of his trident was a welcome one. Slowly he reached out and took the handle, gently running his fingers down the blades, careful not to cut himself on the razor edges. It was deliciously cold and smooth to the touch, so familiar.

Then that face came to mind and he laid the weapon down gently, frustration clear on his face, and laid back down to bury himself in the blanket. That blonde hair, softly mussed, made him frown. The long eyelashes that made his eyes that much more expressive brought a line between his brows. The lips so delicately curved, pale pink and often parted made him close his eyes tightly and try to lull himself back to sleep. But sleep was what he'd had too much of, and he knew that his dreams would just be worse.

So he forced himself to his feet, working out the many cramps, patiently regaining his balance and thankful to have not been trapped for any longer than he had, and began to practice walking, first slowly and soon gaining confidence. Ken and Chikusa were taking a long time but he didn't mind; this part would have been embarrassing, even if they had been the ones to remove him from his cell and carry his unconscious body here, wherever here was. Then he began to test his arms and his hands, carefully wielding the trident, eventually gaining speed and force until he felt competent again. After a few months without any movement he shouldn't have been able to recover so quickly, but there was no telling what the properties of the cell had been, since it was part of Vindice.

He was deeply engulfed in the shimmer in the air from the trident whirling too fast to see, entirely occupied by the feel of the familiar grooves in his hand and the light, efficient steps he made across the room, effortlessly dispatching imagined foes, slicing the air ruthlessly. When the door opened he didn't notice until he turned, lightning quick with the weapon held wide and saw two faces peering at him with evident relief. Mukuro smiled, a small smile but there nonetheless, at the sight.

"Ken," he murmured, "Chikusa." He let the trident fall to his side with the arm that held it and stepped forward, pleased by his perfect balance. There had to be something about that water that kept his muscles from atrophy. Whatever the reason, it was a good thing.

Ken straightened his back, grinning widely, baring teeth a little too sharp to be natural, while Chikusa dipped his head and gave Mukuro a tiny smile of greeting.

"Do you have the bus tickets I asked for?" he purred, laying the butt of the trident on the ground and looking at them curiously. Ken nodded immediately, looking at the black-haired teen beside him, who pulled three slips of paper from his pocket and offered them silently. Mukuro walked over to take them, glancing at the destinations before smiling with approval. "What time is it?"

"Eleven," Chikusa murmured with a look at his watch. "On the fourteenth."

Mukuro couldn't hide a tiny grin, though there was an icy fist holding his spine. "Three hours. We ought to get something to eat before we go to the bus stop. And do you have more suitable clothing for me?" The last was added off-hand as he checked all of the tickets, seemingly only vaguely interested, though the two knew otherwise.

"Got food right here, boss," Ken shrugged as he grabbed a bag from outside the door. Mukuro recognized the brand of a convenience store on it. "And a pair of clothes, too, in case you were awake. They had you in those pajamas in the prison so we didn't bother to take them off."

He nodded slowly, giving a shrug. His pointed glance at the bag was the only message Ken needed before he went digging in it, seemingly trying to decide what was best for the newly escaped teen. Mukuro sighed and stepped over, swiping the bag with exaggerated exasperation though he didn't really mind the doting. He glanced through what they had—pre-packaged food, snacks, and he finally noticed with a relieved smile, carefully wrapped sandwiches.

"The lady acted like I was crazy when I asked for a cucumber sandwich," Ken told him with a grimace. "You have weird tastes, boss."

That made him chuckle as he took a bite, not bothering to check what was on it. Ken knew what he liked. The taste of thick baked bread, definitely Italian, slightly sweet and incredibly soft on the inside; surprisingly fresh cucumbers, sweet and light, just barely crunchy; and was that apple? Why, yes, that was just a little bit of apple. He had to fight not to moan with pleasure. It was impossible to find sandwiches like this in Japan, one of the few things he missed about Italy. The bread was amazing here.

Chikusa picked through a bag of chips absentmindedly, lounging against the wall, and Ken was pacing restlessly as always, demolishing a thick sandwich of his own piled high in what had to be four kinds of meat and jalapenos. Mukuro had to avoid looking at it to savour the taste of his own or else he might have lost some of his appetite.

"Water?" Chikusa offered simply as he pulled out a soda for himself. At the nod he tossed a clear bottle over and Mukuro caught it, surprised by how cold it still was. Another check of the time showed they still had over two hours until they needed to catch the bus, so he changed into the clothing they had provided—surprisingly close to his old outfit, perfect fit, easy to move in—without bothering to leave the room. There was no part of his body to be ashamed of, he thought, and the other two were frankly uninterested.

When they finally found themselves at the bus stop, waiting to be brought north, he was forced to remember what he was doing. The thought brought _his_ face to mind again, this time all the brighter as if the fact that he was only hours away amplified it. He hoped the two boys hadn't noticed the way his cheeks must have darkened a little before he got a hold of himself again and the bus pulled up. They each handed over their tickets and took their seats, as close to each other as they could get, with Mukuro sitting at the window and looking thoughtfully out at the street as they began moving again. Ken's light hair reflected in the glass and for a moment he thought that the man who had been haunting him was there with them, but quickly he realized his mistake before he moved and embarrassed himself. This was indeed a disease and it needed to be killed before it killed him.

The ride was, though smooth, less than ideal, but it could not dampen the good feeling he'd gotten from the events after he'd woken. It was a good day; he was going to be able to get this done and get out with no hitches, and certainly no regrets. They would return to Japan, perhaps after a couple more days of enjoying the food here, and he would never need to remember that face or how it had stolen several months of his life from him. Rokudou Mukuro belonged to no man. No one could hold him as the Cavallone had done. He would make sure of that.

When they reached the town they wanted they got off and Mukuro left Ken and Chikusa to find them a place to stay the night despite their protests—or, Ken's protests and Chikusa's sharp look. This was something he needed to do alone. Somewhere deep inside he considered that he might not be able to keep his composure, and he did not want them to be witnesses to such a thing. He was the infallible Mukuro, always to be respected and feared and, by them, trusted. Their pillar could not crumble or they all would fall.

On the bus he'd examined a map, memorizing every detail he could, and he walked as if he knew the streets. He left the small town, trekking just out of sight of the road towards the country, his goal only a mile away. He would not take a taxi lest the Cavallones be alerted of someone coming to their home.

At the gate he stopped, his illusions already at work. He would slip in without being noticed, invisible because no one expected to see him and thus they would be fooled. He slipped through the gate's bars, carefully checking for any sensors or tricks that would give him away, and walked straight for the manor. It was huge, but that was to be expected of a fairly large family. There were five stories and it had to be a thousand meters wide, sitting picturesquely against a country background, lawn well-manicured and elegant. It would have been impressive, if such things impressed him.

Dino Cavallone was the boss, and as such his suite would be somewhere of prominence. A high floor, perhaps the fifth, and in the middle, surrounded by his family. Somehow he couldn't picture that man lounging on an expensive bed, enjoying the luxuries of such wealth. He seemed too humble.

He waited for the door to open, knowing someone would leave or someone would enter soon enough. A family so large had to be busy, filled with comings and goings. He was not mistaken; it was only minutes that he waited on the front porch, standing at the top of the steps with his trident held loosely by his side, when the door opened and three people walked out. He didn't bother to see what they were doing, who they were; a glance showed that none of them were the blonde he was after and so he ducked nimbly into the manor behind them and headed for the stairs. The faint scent of lavender was pleasant and there would be no traps lest one of their own set it off.

Careful not to brush against anyone or to get close enough to give himself away by the wake of air he left behind him, Mukuro ascended the stairs, eyeing the manor with a critical look. The stairs were richly carpeted, but a closer look told him not as richly as he had thought. A look at the gold railings made him notice a little chip in the colour and he realized it was only gold leaved, with wood underneath. He walked slower, paying more attention, and with a puzzled frown saw evidence of the same everywhere. The Cavallone home gave off every air of wealth and wastefulness, but it was all feigned. But the family was not poor; it shouldn't have been struggling. Why go to such lengths _not_ to spend the money they must have had? Absentmindedly he remembered hearing about their famous philanthropy, how most of their profit went back to Italy and the lower classes. It made him blink. But he couldn't dwell; he had a job to do.

The top floor had to be the bedrooms. There were corridors all branching off from one another, lined with mahogany doors that had silver-plated doorknobs. The carpet was plush, seemingly the only real concession to luxury. The decorations—paintings, sculptures, photography—were all elegant, but a cursory examination revealed them to be mass-produced. How puzzling.

But when he reached a door without even the silver plating on the knob, the brass exposed and a little at odds with the rich mahogany finish, he knew this had to be the room he was looking for. He examined the doorknob, checked under the door, and tested all he could to be sure there were no alarms to set off before he slowly opened it, peering in with wary eyes, to find that he was still alone.

He gently closed the door behind himself and stepped into the room, his lips pursed thoughtfully. The bed was comfortably large, the nightstand equally elegant but more homelike than lavish. He had been wrong about it being in the middle of the floor; one wall had wide windows that provided a nice view of the backyard, rolling green hills and what was quickly becoming the sunset behind them. The curtains were pulled back. He turned slowly, taking everything in—the closet, the neat dresser, the messy desk in the corner beside the window, and the door that had to lead to the bathroom—and finally sat on the edge of the bed, sinking in pleasantly. The duvet was forest green and soft. Under other circumstances he would have been tempted to lie back on it, but he was tense. This was not a time for relaxation.

Somehow he knew this was Dino's room. It felt like him, its stark simplicity, as humble as he was but attractive. But there was nothing that was obviously Dino's, no pictures of him or of anyone else, no books that he could see, only the papers scattered on the desk, the only clutter in the room. Curiously he made his way over to it and picked up the paper on top, what seemed to be a half-written letter. The handwriting was smooth but a little sloppy and the contents completely uninteresting. Nothing else proved curious, all politics and the trivial bits of being mafia. In the top drawer he found another letter written on notebook paper in an entirely different hand. His brows drew together as he read.

_Mr. Cavallone,  
>I'm not sure if you remember, but a month ago you came to<br>a hospital. I was standing at the front desk trying to persuade  
>a doctor to treat my son though we could not provide proof<br>that we could pay. You overheard and without a single question  
>handed them a check.<br>My son, Felix, is seven years old. He's been fighting leukemia  
>for three years now but that was one of the worst times he's had<br>so far. My wife and I thought we would lose him. The doctors  
>gave him chemotherapy and he survived. I found out who you<br>were from someone who had experienced something similar.  
>Thank you, Mr. Cavallone.<br>Gratefully,  
>Lucio Castaldi<em>

More digging through the drawer came up with more of the same. A woman who had been facing foreclosure after a car accident left her unable to work. A man who was feeding three children after his wife passed away from cancer. Even a foster family who had been unable to keep up with the costs of their foster children. Every letter in the desk was a thank you, all kept neatly folded, in the place of prominence of the top drawer. All of them seemed to have been read at least once, if not many times. There had to be a hundred or more. Probably more.

He put them back exactly as he'd found them and looked out the windows at the night. The stars were vivid in the sky of the countryside, the moon not quite full but bright all the same. Mukuro was not a very charitable person, preferring to watch out for himself and his small band of friends rather than paying attention to others. Too much compassion was a weakness. Yet he was still thinking about all the letters, though he couldn't decide why they bothered him. Perhaps it was that he'd been so thoroughly taken, his mind invaded, by a man who spent so much of his time on others. It was too soft, too sappy. Empathy was one thing, sympathy another altogether.

He couldn't rid himself of the memory of that small smile, the almost bashful look Dino could have. He could imagine the man coming in after a long day and sitting down to read the letters with that gentle expression before he tucked them carefully back into the desk and went to bed. Would he have done that today if Mukuro were not here?

He didn't want to sit on the bed again despite how comfortable it was. He perched instead in the wooden chair at the desk and watched the door, waiting patiently, his mind spinning while he tried to calm it to little avail. But all the thoughts seemed a bit too far away to be his. He was here to do something, and he could not be distracted. He would rid himself of the disease of preoccupation with this man, whatever it was that fascinated him. Then he would return to normal and avoid the keepers of Vendice with Ken and Chikusa.

He stood slowly when the door opened. Dino stood there, his jacket over his arm and T-shirt hanging loosely over the khaki cargo pants that Mukuro recognized. The blonde tilted his head a little, looking directly at the illusionist, and the recognition there let him know he'd been seen despite his illusion. So Dino had expected him to be there, since he hadn't been fooled. The young man gave a small, perhaps a little sad, smile and stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him and laid the jacket on the dresser. His whip was hooked to his belt but he made no move for it.

He brushed past Mukuro, surprising him, and sat at the desk. For a moment he wondered if the man really hadn't seen him, but then he spun the chair around to regard the boy with a vaguely curious look. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," he said after a long silence. "I was doing some business and couldn't come back quickly."

Mukuro tilted his head, letting the last of the illusion drop. "You know how long I've been waiting?" he asked, vaguely puzzled.

"There's an alarm in my desk drawer." Dino gave a lopsided smile at his blink. "I assume Tsuna didn't send you, Mukuro."

The way his name sounded on those lips made his breath hitch and at once frustration flooded him. His hand tightened on the trident and he lunged forward towards the prone figure, determined to end this quickly before his heart skipped a beat and he hesitated to finish this. Blood was the only medicine for this illness and he would have it. Dino's whip snapped out and he narrowly avoided having his weapon pulled from his hand, ducking in faster, only to be met by a boot aimed at his chest that he just blocked.

He took a step back, eyes narrowed, to see the blonde had gotten to his feet and was frowning as if in puzzlement. Sienna eyes looked at him curiously but he didn't loosen his grip on the whip. "Now I know Tsuna didn't send you," he sighed quietly.

"No," he returned evenly. "I'm here for me."

"And why do you want me dead, Rokudou Mukuro?" His voice was tired though his stance remained the same. There was a little tightening at the corners of his mouth as if he was fighting a frown.

He took a slow breath, ignoring the way his heart raced. "I am purging a disease," he murmured, expression wary and focused. "Every weakness has to be destroyed."

"You're not talking about the Vongola, are you?" he replied slowly, blinking. "How does this involve me? Particularly my death?"

Mukuro's jaw clenched but his words were lilting, his tone imperturbable, carefully controlled and arrogant. "You're my weakness," he said after a long moment. His lips tightened. "Which means you have to be gone. I can't have weaknesses."

Understanding dawned slowly as the illusionist raised his weapon again and stepped forward threateningly. Dino said nothing, his expression unreadable, while he watched patiently, standing with his back to the window. Mukuro darted forward, making a feint before going in for the blonde's side, but a flash across his sight and then a jerk from his trident made him realize what had happened. The weapon went flying as Dino snapped the whip to toss the trident across the room, immediately wrapping it around one of the boy's wrists as well. He scowled, glaring at the man who'd disarmed him, and found himself drawn forward by the whip.

He stepped closer, ready for Dino to draw a knife, and stiffened as the _don's_ hand brushed his hair softly from his face. He looked up into the blonde's face, immediately freezing at the sight of that small smile he'd seen over and over in his dreams. "Mukuro," Dino whispered. He shivered, bothered by the heat he could feel rising to his cheeks. Indignation swept through him at the position and he was about to attack when the man leaned down and pressed their lips together softly.

He tensed, taken by surprise, but couldn't push him away. One hand was held by the whip, the other now firmly in Dino's grip, and his eyes slid closed slowly. He hadn't dared to imagine what they would feel like against his but now he knew that he would never have been able to guess. It was dizzying but he wanted to blame the vertigo on his recent escape from the prison.

"I don't have to be a weakness," he whispered as he pulled back an inch, caramel gaze locking his. "When I met you I thought you would never even look twice at me but here you are. Are you in love, Mukuro?" Before he could reply bitingly he continued, smiling. "So I don't have to feel so stupid that I kept thinking of you. But you must have had other things to handle without this added in. After all…" He leaned in again, their lips barely brushing as he spoke. "I'm not the one that is bound."

He jerked his wrists but both were held firm. Eyes narrowed, he regarded the blonde for a long moment before he spoke. "You're wrong," he finally purred. "Vendice couldn't hold me." He savoured the surprise on Dino's face.

"You mean this isn't an illusion? This body?" he whispered, suddenly rapt. The look in his eyes wasn't the fear he had been expecting, but rather some sort of pleasure, a sudden grin on the man's mouth. "You managed to get in here. Impressive. Mukuro…" He sounded almost breathless at the end and the illusionist's chest tightened to hear his voice spoken that way. "Mukuro."

Then there was the kiss again, this time hungrier, stealing his breath. Without thinking his lips parted and Dino entered, rubbing their tongues together, exploring eagerly, letting his hold on the boy's wrists loosen until the whip fell to the floor and both arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him close, bending forward so Mukuro was tilted back, his fingers curled and tangled in with blonde hair, no doubt tugging but earning no objections.

A voice in his mind was yelling at him to attack Dino, to break the kiss before he got any deeper, but he couldn't remember why. His mind was quickly fading into faint thoughts, barely coherent, until there were only their touching bodies and the way a sensitive part of his tongue was being rubbed ruthlessly and a moan was close to being torn from his lips. Dino broke away reluctantly, letting them both breathe, but before he could recover to remember why he needed to stop, Mukuro felt himself lifted up without warning. He gasped as he felt the bed suddenly at his back, pillows behind his head, and the warmth of Dino's body was surrounding him again as he laid over him, crashing their mouths back together. His heart pounded wildly, thrumming in his ears as he twisted his hands into the man's shirt, moaning softly into the kiss and felt fingers skimming his shoulders, pushing his jacket off. He helped to rid himself of it and reached for the blonde's shirt, eager to feel skin under his fingers, to trace the lines of his stomach and ribs and chest and feel the pulse that he hoped was drumming like his. He was breathing heavily as Dino pulled off his shirt, the lines of his body highlighted by the moonlight, and his hands explored eagerly, trying to memorize everything he could. Every angle, every muscle, every scar. The tattoos shone in the faint light, drawing his eye with them, down his neck and over his chest to his hips, making him swallow hard.

There was something deeply wrong about this, he thought, a feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't stop. He let Dino pull off his shirt and kiss his neck, nipping at his shoulder, moving down to kiss his chest and his ribs, a thumb rubbing his nipple relentlessly, drawing a gasp and a little panting moan. The bad feeling was gradually slipping away, replaced with lust, a deep, alien hunger that set him on fire. Their lips pressed together again, Mukuro letting him in without hesitation, tasting each other roughly, and Dino unzipped his jeans, deftly undid his belt, and was sliding them over his hips. The pants were flung off the bed as their bodies pressed together again, Mukuro fumbling with his belt. Finally he had it undone and the blonde pulled them off, his arousal suddenly clear through his boxers.

He nipped softly at Mukuro's nipple, teasing the other with a finger, and laid his mouth over it to suck, his tongue playing across it. Mukuro moaned softly, his fingers curled tightly against the man's shoulders, and felt his boxers tugged down around his thighs. The cold air made him shiver, his breath hitching as they joined the other clothes on the floor. His heart skipped a beat as Dino moved down. The curious look made him tense but without hesitation the blonde had begun kissing him, sending shocks through him, his tongue darting out to trail a line along him. He shivered hard, his hips jerking forward when he felt the warm breath on his skin, and Dino held one of his hips down firmly as he took him in his mouth, a little at first, then sliding him in further, hot and wet and his teeth lightly grazed the sensitive skin, making him groan, his hands in Dino's hair, as he was slid in and out. He used his free hand to take what he couldn't in his mouth and gradually grew faster, giving little moans that sent vibrations along him that earned loud mewls and gasps.

"Dino…!" The heat reached a crescendo, balling almost painfully in his hips before it shot through him, a searing wave of pleasure that made him groan and pant, biting his lip with his head thrown back. The man pulled back slowly and licked the liquid from his lips, smiling slyly.

"That was your first time," he murmured huskily, "wasn't it? It was fast."

He swallowed but didn't answer, instead reaching to slide off Dino's boxers. They fell to the ground and he moved to push the blonde off of him, catching him by surprise. He rolled on top and took a quick breath before he followed what had been done to him only a moment ago, trailing his tongue along his length probingly, shivering at his size, and slid him into his mouth. Dino sighed, a hand on Mukuro's shoulder showing his approval. He knew he was clumsy, perhaps using his teeth a little too much, but he used his hand to rub him he couldn't reach with his mouth, avoiding his gag reflex as well as he could, eventually taking him deeper until he felt him in the back of his throat, sending shivers down his spine. He was moaning softly, bringing the same from Dino, and was taken off guard when Dino pushed him off.

Mukuro stared in confusion, seeing that he was still aroused, a dark shade of red that looked painful. The blonde had him straddling his hips and he sat up halfway, a hand on his hand and the other trailing along his hips until it reached behind him, and a strange pressure made him open his lips to object before he felt something pressed inside of him and he gasped, tensing tightly at the pain.

"Relax," Dino whispered huskily in his ear. "It'll only hurt for a little bit and it'll be better if you're not tense." Reluctantly he forced himself to follow the advice, shivering as another finger was pressed inside of him, this time slower, gently stretching him. He felt the fingers scissor apart and groaned, his fingers digging into Dino's shoulders. Another finger and he was panting, and suddenly his fingers brushed something that made him yell, his back arching while his eyes widened in surprise. He could feel himself becoming aroused again, amazed by the effect the little brush had, had. Dino pressed in a fourth finger, earning a low moan, and again touched the bundle of nerves there. His moan was strained, head thrown back, and he felt kisses trailed along his neck and shoulders.

Before he could react he was on his back again, his knees hooked on Dino's elbows, and felt the pressure on his entrance as their lips came together again and suddenly he was full, groaning loudly into the blonde's mouth, his hips bucking with pain and pleasure as their bodies came together and drew apart. Dino rolled his hips a little so he hit the love spot, sending shivers down his spine and bringing loud groans to his throat. He began to move faster, panting against Mukuro's neck, not minding the pain of the fingers clawing into his back.

Whenever he could he kissed the boy's neck between fast, hard breaths. He could feel the racing pulse pounding against his lips and his own was the same. The heat was building again, the friction between them delicious and hot and driving Mukuro crazy. He wanted more, to feel that wave from earlier, but he knew now it would be better. The sensation of being filled was mind-blowing. Dino began to rock faster against him, pounding into him, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back into him, driving their bodies closer. Mukuro's back was arched, groans escaping quickly and breathlessly as he pushed with his hips, finding the rhythm and moving with him. Dino was giving little sounds of pleasure, muffled against his neck, and Mukuro felt him beginning to twitch inside of him. The feeling brought another shiver.

The heat came together suddenly this time, broadsiding him, and he yelled, his fingernails breaking skin and scratching down Dino's back. His sight faded for a moment, aware only of the pleasure that made him gasp, writhing with another yell. A warm hand engulfed him, drawing it out until he couldn't take any more. Warm wetness spattered his chest and Dino's, his hips clenching with the wave of dizzying climax, bringing a yelp and a few erratic thrusts from the blonde before he was filled with searing hot fluid. He continued a few thrusts, panting hard and kissing Mukuro's neck roughly before he pulled out reluctantly, his seed overflowing to drip along his thighs.

The kiss wasn't nearly so heated as they gradually untangled themselves, breathing heavily and pulses slowly returning to normal.

"Dino," he whispered breathlessly. "Dino."

That brought a tiny smile and a kiss on the forehead as the blonde pulled the comforter over the both of them. Mukuro let him pull him close, his head lying against his chest as he struggled to get his mind back together. "What does that mean?" he finally muttered, still breathing heavily. "What now?"

The faintly amused look he received was infuriating but the smile made him gulp. "Now I tell you I'm in love with you," Dino murmured softly. Mukuro tensed, unsure how to react. "…And this is where you're supposed to say you love me, too."

He hesitated, parting his lips a little to respond, but he couldn't find the words. For a moment he stared up into those sienna eyes in confusion before he closed his mouth, took a deep breath and laid his head on Dino's chest again.

Ken and Chikusa could wait until morning. They'd know better than to think he wouldn't come back. For now the warmth of their bodies together was irresistible and though Dino's words bothered him, he couldn't quite say he disliked them. Was this weakness? He wasn't sure. He'd have to think about that when he wasn't distracted by Dino's body beside him and sleep quickly rushing to claim him.


End file.
